Where at each step the ftranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful fnake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And favage men more murd'rous ftill than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies.
Far different thefe from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the graffy vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.

Good Heaven! what forrows gloom'd that parting day, That call'd them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure paft,

Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last,
And took a long farewel, and wish'd in vain.
For feats like these beyond the western main;
And fhudd'ring still to face the distant deep,
Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep.
The good old fire, the first prepar'd to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for other's woe;
But for himself, in confcious virtue brave,
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave,
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for a father's arms.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And bleft the cot where every pleasure rose;

And

And kift her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clafpt them close, in forrow doubly dear;
Whilft her fond husband ftrove to lend relief
In all the filent manliness of grief.

O, luxury thou curft by heaven's decree,
How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions with infidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to deftroy!
Kingdoms by thee, to fickly greatness grown,
Boaft of a florid vigour not their own.

At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe;

Till fapp'd their ftrength, and every part unfound,
Down, down they fink, and spread a ruin round.

Even now the devastation is begun,

And half the business of deftruction done;
Even now, methinks, as pond'ring here I ftand,
I fee the rural virtues leave the land.

Down where yon anchoring veffel spreads the fail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pafs from the fhore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hofpitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes plac'd above,
And fteady loyalty, and faithful love.

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still firft to fly where sensual joys invade;

Unfit

Unfit in these degen'rate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honeft fame ;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd,
My fhame in crouds, my folitary pride.

Thou fource of all my blifs, and all my woe,
That found'ft me poor at firft, and keep'ft me so;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well,
Farewel, and O! where'er thy voice be try'd,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's fide,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in fnow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime ;
Aid flighted truth, with thy persuasive strain ;
Teach erring man to fpurn the rage of gain ;
Teach him, that ftates of native ftrength, poffeft,
Though very poor, may ftill be very bleft;
That trade's proud empire haftes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away;
While felf-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks refift the billows and the sky.

THE

SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,

Dear mercenary beauty,
What annual off'ring shall I make
Expreffive of my duty?

Say, would the angry fair-one prize
The gift, who flights the giver?

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give-and let 'em.
If gems, or gold, import a joy,
I'll give them-when I get 'em.

I'll

I'll give-but not the full-blown rofe,
Or rofe-bud more in fashion;
Such fhort-liv'd off'rings but disclose
A tranfitory paffion.

I'll give thee fomething yet unpaid,
Not lefs fincere, than civil:

I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,
I'll give thee-to the devil.

EPI